Glue Fish
by Bee-Knee
Summary: McCree and Junkrat are sent on a mission to a boggy, salt marsh. The last thing they expected to find was a stark-white horse, grazing among the reeds. "Hey Rat, watch me break-in this beauty. I bet I can pull off a ride." "NO! Don't touch it!" (Junkfish AU, Kelpie, Mermaid Junkrat, Dragon Hanzo, Selkie Reinhardt, Confused McCree)
1. Chapter 1

_**Glue Fish: Chapter 1**_

* * *

It was a few good hours since Overwatch had dumped them in a salt marsh, somewhere along the East Coast; and, just a bit aways from wherever Talon-camp they'd been set to gather intel from.

"_Bwoop. Bweep. Bwoop~!" Sang Junkrat. _He tapped his mechanical fingers against a tin-can, trying to make music where there was none…

"Look Junkrat, can't yah shut up just for a few minutes? That tin-can wasn't funny FOUR hours ago!" Cried McCree. He'd been trying to be polite and ignore it, but he'd forgotten that Junkrat '_didn't'_ have manners much.

"Fuck," Junkrat abruptly stopped.

McCree looked back, he hadn't '_hurt Junkrat's feelings'_ had he?

Junkrat amber-eyes stared at the sky, as if hopeless.

"It's only been four hours?" He actually looked ready to _cry._

He was half-way up to his knees in mud. A black trashbag had been hastily wrapped around his peg-leg to keep it semi-dry. His lone sock and boot however, were practically sucked off in the muck.

"It stinks out here too! If I smell it, you know it's bad." Junkrat facepalmed, looking down at the mud as if it was quicksand.

"Yep, a nice sulfur-smell, alright." McCree nodded, to offer some comradic sympathy. "Yep, yep, bog missions suck…"

Without thinking, he pulled out a carton and lit a cigar. He closed his eyes in bliss. The smoke was dry, like a nice desert sun. He hadn't even begun to think of the _'humidity'_ that made his skin prickle and itch like crazy.

"Hey Rat, you wanna smoke?"

"A what?" Junkrat looked at McCree as if he was stupid, slowly gesturing to the grenades strapped to his chest.

"Nah, no thanks. Best to keep any stray embers away from me."

McCree raised a brow, "But your hair is on fire."

And it was true. Something was always burning around Junkrat, usually the sad, sticky-gold locks he dared call hair.

"Roight," Junkrat shrugged. "But that's different. I just don't wanna start smoking."

"You _'don't'_ smoke?" McCree smirked incredulously. "Sure, and I don't shoot a gun."

"Look Mackie," huffed Junkrat, "I'm '_always_' covered in gunpowder."

Rat wagged his brows, thisking at McCree's cigar. "If I get hooked onto those little death-sticks, I'll be blowing smoke out my ass in no time."

McCree shrugged, "Point made, I _guess_." He still didn't believe Junkrat wasn't the type to smoke. Just looking at him, stuck in the mud like a sad little sapling, said that he needed a cigar desperately."

"I huff gasoline though."

"Of course you do," chuckled McCree. Now _that_, he could believe.

"Okay Rat, get a move on. We don't wanna be stuck out in this bog after dark, do we?"

McCree moved fast by taking advantage of rocks and mangrove roots, which paved the way.

However, looking back...poor Junkrat was left in the dust, sticky, messy-dust.

Junkrat struggled to even take one step. His boot was slick enough to pop off if he didn't aim his foot right. It didn't help that everything else was wet; he'd also neglected to waterproof his mechanical arm...so he couldn't afford to move carelessly.

His peg-leg was another lost cause altogether. It cut through mud like a knife did butter, useless for walking.

Eventually Rat had to resort to gripping upper mangrove branches to propel himself forward, like some discount-tarzan.

McCree just shook his head in pity and disbelief.

"Are you coming!?" he shouted, uncertainty.

"Yeah, just...gimme a sec," Junkrat shouted back.

McCree sighed, taking his hat off to give his head a nice, nervous scratch. All their shouting might just jeopardize the mission, eventually.

"Do you need help?"

"Nah, nah! Imma coming!"

But Junkrat didn't move. He was flat on his belly, tangled in the cagey roots of a mangrove.

"You look like you need help."

"Uh…my peg?"

Junkrat needn't say more. McCree marched up, his face redder than a beet.

He was mad, oh how he was plain ticked-off, but not at Junkrat…

"Why the fuck did they send '_US'_ out here?!"

"I don't know!" Screamed Junkrat.

"We're desert-dwelling folk! What were they thinking?!"

"I don't...knowww-wait!" Junkrat got his bearings, slowly unhooking his peg-leg from a snag in a branch.

"Maybe, maybe they sent us out here because we've worked well on missions before? Like us being a winning combo?"

McCree rolled his eyes, "Yeah, but those missions were in a DESERT, mind you. Not, not a bog!"

McCree threw his hands up in the air, aghast.

"Mackie, isn't this supposed to be a stealth mission?"

"Oh fuck, yeah, that!" Whose idea was it to send _"Junkrat"_ on a _"stealth-mission?"_

"Mackie."

Junkrat was still twisted up in some branches, looking like a hairless otter. Even the embers on his hair had gone out, since his face had ended up hovering over water.

"Mackie."

"What?"

"Carry me, Mackie."

"E-excuse me?"

The weird request put McCree's anger on hold.

"I said carry me~!" Junkrat went all doe-eyed, a piss-poor attempt at looking like a damsel, if he ever did see one.

"Do I look like Roadhog?"

Junkrat blinked, cocking his head as if to think about it. "Yeah!"

McCree pulled down his hat, covering his face to think, and to keep himself from getting angry again.

"AHHHHH!"

"Geezus, Junkrat, shut yer trap. I'm not going to carry you!"

"T-that wasn't me…" said Junkrat. He dipped his head up to his nose in water, as if he could hide...

"AHHHHH!"

Both nervously looked in the direction of the scream.

"There it is again." McCree whispered, crouching down to become eye-level with Rat.

"Stay here, I'll go investigate."

Junkrat was rendered speechless, as he watched McCree mosey on away.

* * *

A white horse, bright like campfire ash, looked to McCree with its pearly eyes.

"Holy moly…," McCree gasped.

The horse was standing in a clearing from where'd he heard the scream.

He whipped his head around, anticipating to find a Talon-soldier stuck in the bog...or more likely, a rancher, now that he thought about it…

But why was a horse in a bog of all places? McCree thisked, the poor creature had been misplaced just like Junkrat and himself had been. The both of them belonged in a desert, and a pretty horse like this, in a nice big pasture.

It must have wandered off...jumped a fence if McCree had to guess.

The horse had huge, beautiful legs, which almost dwarfed him in size.

It looked to be a draft-breed, or a war-stallion. It was a '_very'_ impressive specimen. Must've been a show-horse or something-had to be, lookin' so pretty.

McCree wanted to yell out for Junkrat to get his butt moving to come see it, but he didn't dare risk scaring it off.

Like any proper cowboy, he'd away kept a rope on him.

McCree was no stranger to handling horses. He'd owned his own ranch before he gave up on a county-lifestyle.

He approached the horse slowly, arms held steady. His rope was out, a proper lasso, which he swung gently to make sure everything was in order.

The horse didn't seem to pay him much mind.

It bent down to graze without so much as looking at him.

No way it was a _"wild"_ horse.

Even the most stubborn and/or courageous horses he'd dealt with had never outright ignored him.

Careful now...steady now…toss with a hook...

_*Whoosh_

The lasso hit its target. The rope sat firmly around the horse's neck and only now did it look at McCree as he came closer.

"Now, that's a nice fella. You're well behaved, ain't yah? You remind me of a fancy, rich-noble type."

He patted the horse's neck, smiling when it began sniffing his hair.

"Haha, I'm afraid I don't have any snacks on me. My hair and hat aren't good eats, sadly."

McCree frowned, looking at the muck the horse was grazing on.

Eating reeds and algae couldn't be good for it.

"Now where's your home? Can't be far."

The horse's pelt was like fresh snow, oddly not a speck of dirt to be found. It hasn't been in the bog for long.

McCree grew more enamoured every second.

He began to pet it more and more, mystified that it was so calm around a stranger.

Even the friendly little yearlings on his ranch had never accepted a stranger so quickly.

Hrm...could he possibly...ride it?

McCree glanced at the horse's ears, which were perked fine like daisies. He'd bet a fistful of gold that it wouldn't mind to take him for a ride.

"McCree!" Junkrat screamed, barreling down a boggy-hill into the clearing. "You ditched me you asshole!"

McCree bit his lip. Junkrat was running at him now, or at least trying to, as he still flopped around, rather helplessly in the mud.

"What...don't, danger!" Gurgled Junkrat, through a mouthful of mud.

McCree felt the horse tense, likely from the noise Junkrat was kicking up.

He tensed up himself, tightening his grip on the rope. He didn't want the horse to suddenly bolt...

"Hey Rat, watch me break-in this beauty. I bet I can pull off a ride."

McCree hoisted himself up. He'd thought Junkrat would shut up once he did, perhaps to marvel at how good he must've looked on top of such a beautiful steed.

But Junkrat just looked horrified.

"NO! Don't touch it!"

Did...did Junkrat not know what a horse was or something?

"You gotta get OFF, now!"

It wasn't that outlandish. Junkrat was raised in a post-apocalyptic Australia after all, no happy horses there...but, why the screaming?

McCree laughed. "Relax, it's just a horse!"

"It's not a horse!" Junkrat waved his arms around, a madman turned rabid.

"Not a horse!" He screamed, and screamed.

_Not._

_A._

_Horse._

Junkrat's eyes locked with McCree's. His face was flushed with such genuine terror that McCree felt the world slow down...

In fact, the whole world was going down around him…

McCree looked forward, his vision going blurry as he felt the horse bolt.

Naturally, he leaned forward to keep a grip on the horse, but to his horror, found he didn't need to.

The horse's coat had turned pasty, gluey, as if the fur was melting. With each passing second the coat grew darker and darker, until the entire beast matched the bog-muck around it.

Junkrat was screaming, but McCree could no longer hear him!

Through his blurry-vision he pulled a hand away to find that he couldn't. He couldn't adjust his grip...he couldn't adjust the lasso…

McCree knew he wasn't mad when he pulled away hard, so that a hand could prevent his hat from flying away...but he couldn't…

No even the strength of his cybernetic arm could break free!

Glue...strings of the stuff, poured from the horse's backside.

A slimy-hardshell had encased his hands.

McCree still didn't understand when he looked to move his legs, and found them too, immoveable.

A swath of gluey-tendrils looped over and over him…

Creeping up to his chest...slugs in his mouth...

McCree couldn't blink as the horse..._no,_ beast...**monster**, dived deep into the bog! A grave splash drowned all his other senses out.

Cold, fetid water clouded his vision. Bubbles from his screaming poured out as the glue constricted his chest, clogged his throat…

He couldn't breath! Couldn't see! Couldn't feel, as everything was knocked out of him.

The horse dissolved between his legs, but McCree couldn't kick to swim, to breath. He was frozen.

He saw pearly-white eyes, unblinking...unmoving...

_Not._

_A._

_Horse._

Finally he understood.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews and Feedback is very much appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**_Glue Fish: Chapter 2_**

* * *

McCree coughed.

Coughed...and coughed...and coughed...

Eventually he stopped...rolled over...then shivered.

His mind struggled to keep up with the unwanted, terrible sensations.

His hands burned…his cybernetic one sparking with a signature metallic smell...

His legs...baked in lava…

McCree was much too tired to scream...just breathing hurt...just blinking more than once, hurt…

_Dream._

It was the only word that came to mind and he gripped onto it, tight.

He felt if he closed his eyes, he would die.

His heart was beating slow enough...it had crawled into his throat.

"You're ALIVE!"

It was a huge shriek, louder than even the panic seizing his thoughts.

McCree was happy...happy that he tasted mud, and felt soft plants against his cheek…

As long as it wasn't pain... wasn't hurting...he was happy.

McCree blinked; blinked and blinked and blinked, again.

The sting of humid air and tears eventually snapped him back, let his mind reel in like the fish on a hook he felt like.

McCree didn't dare move...it wasn't sensible...too painful.

"Up and at 'em!"

He knew that voice!

"R-r-rat," he rasped.

'What happened?' he'd wanted to say, but he settled on enjoying breathing, and blinking, instead; even if it hurt, and felt like his nose would pop off like a cap-gun from his face.

"Alright, Mackie! I'd knew you'd pull through!" Junkrat cheered, very '_very'_ loudly.

But McCree smiled so broad and tight he'd thought his lips would bleed. Junkrat's obnoxious voice might as well have belonged to an angel.

"What happened?" Finally, he'd asked.

"Oh…," Junkrat trailed off, "A whole lotta nothing…" Junkrat paused, chuckling and giggling to himself.

Still, McCree didn't dare move. To his side, he heard a lot of smashing and cracking, rocks most likely…

"Oh yeah, lots of nothing happened, eh, Talon-wise thankfully." '_Whistling_,' Junkrat was '_whistling_.' "And roight, you almost died too, Mackie~!"

A gross, fishy-smell leaned in close. "You're lucky yours truly decided to save your crazy, cow-self."

McCree wanted to talk more, but his breath-hitched and he squeezed his eyes shut from the pain.

"What happened?" McCree repeated. His memories weren't making sense.

"Meh, it'll be easier to figure out after a day or so awake."

He felt a soft pat on the head.

"So Mackie, don't you dare fall asleep on me, we've been here for '_three'_ days."

_Three. Days. Said Junkrat, nonchalantly._

McCree wouldn't have believed it, if he didn't feel like death.

"W-what?"

"Three days I said. That, and you sound like a frog, mate."

McCree just nodded, still not fully understanding, but being too tired to bother.

_*Slishic!_

A wet slap behind his head, sent McCree flying upright.

Pearly eyes...unblinking, cold eyes…

"I-I think...remember...horse...horse!" Cried McCree.

"Yeah, yeah you sound hoarse too, mate. Don't strain yourself."

The smashing and cracking of rocks next to McCree persisted; but he'd grown weary of it...

*Schilp

Another slap; he sat up more fully. It helped his vision by clearing his tears.

"Anyway, up and at 'em! Yah can handle it if you've gotten chatty."

"O-kay."

McCree rubbed his eyes furiously, ignoring how it burned to do so.

He could see proper now. He saw green reeds, a blue sky, the gross brown of the bog, and...and…

"Ahhuagh!" McCree screamed, and screamed!

_What. The. Fuck. Is. That!?_

"Shit, shit, shit! Calm down, mate!"

*Schlipl schlip schlip!

Several more slaps to the face, though gentler than last time.

It didn't help much though, since the slaps came from the same thing he was screaming at!

"Mackie!"

"Ahhuagh!"

"Mackie! Come on, it's me Junkrat!" He seemed besides himself.

"Ahh shit, I thought of ways how to show yah that wouldn't scare the piss out of yah, but after three days I uh...forgot about the possibility?"

McCree put a hand over his heart; his eyes so wide he could feel them popping out.

_A fish-man_.

It had Junkrat's face, almost...no, not even that.

Just his voice. Just that memorable, obnoxious voice.

"I also found your hat~!" chirped the fish-man, or er...a mister Junkrat.

_His hat._

McCree tentatively reached out to grab it. A hand, webbed with golden-green orange fins held it.

_His HAT._

As McCree clutched the article tight, he remembered.

He remembered why, he felt so terrible and dead.

He looked down at the bog and dark water. He remembered the white horse and how'd it dragged him under…

Slowly, he looked back at Junkrat, half-expecting to have hallucinated his new "fish-man" appearance.

But he hadn't. McCree wasn't sure how to feel about that, so he '_didn't.'_

"Junkrat, that really you?" Said McCree, managing to keep his voice steady.

"Yep~!"

So chipper, so casual, with the craziest things...it was Junkrat alright.

"What...are you?"

Junkrat chuckled, "Well, I'm a mermaid."

Mer. Maid.

Maid. Mer.

Mermaid, the Junkrat.

Junkrat the Mermaid.

Mer-rat?

Junk-maid?

Over the course of a minute, McCree rolled that word around in his head, and it hadn't started to make sense.

"Pardon."

"I'm a mermaid, Mackie! Come on, come on, it ain't that weird!"

"It's, that's…yes, plenty weird Rat."

"Hrm…" Junkrat hemmed and hawed, "Well, fine. I guess it is. But certainly not as weird as the Kelpie, if I gotta say."

"Kelpie?"

"Haha, you still don't think what attacked you was a horse, do yah?" He paused to chuckle. "Nah, that nasty bugger was a kelpie. Bastard beat me up too, before I managed to unglue you."

"A kelpie?"

"Okay, now that's getting annoying. Don't know how many more times you want me to say it." Junkrat sighed, shrinking down onto his fishbody. He pouted a moment, before springing up. "Oh wow, a kelpie. Funny, I just realized that kelpies are like mermaids for horses. Huh...neat."

McCree nodded, as if he'd been listening, but he was so dumbfounded and tired, that he still wasn't sure if he was hallucinating everything.

"Anyway!"

*Swrick swrick.

McCree looked over and saw that he'd been correct about the smashing and crashing of rocks.

Junkrat had set up a primitive shop, consisting of half-smashed fish placed atop flatrocks, which offered the only dry surfaces that he could see.

Then, high on a boulder, he spotted the shattered remains of his cybernetic arm.

McCree gasped, "My arm!"

He hadn't even realized it had been missing and he grimly grabbed the stub on his right side.

What else was missing? His..his holster!

"My Peacekeeper! Where's my gun!?"

"Ha, yah just noticed? Mine stuff is up there too, tried to get 'em dry, but it's hard to do here. Everything is gonna need proper repairs."

Junkrat shrugged, "This bog is hell. In fact, I've waited for you to wake up so we can move camp to dry land. All our tech got absolutely fucked from the water, Overwatch communications included."

"I...I see, damn. That's really bad." he understood this time. McCree got up, edger to get going.

"Okay, then...enough-"

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just need to go to the bathroom…"

Three days...McCree was dirty in places he didn't even know he had…

"Okay, new plan: fuck. the. mission!"

That sent Junkrat laughing, rolling through the bog-muck like a mudskipper.

"Roight, yes! Fuck the mission! First thing, we dry the tech and request 'back to base,' simple!"

"Yep, absolute, mission-failure...we better get a truckful of coffee after this!" Cried McCree.

"Yeah, fuck the mission!"

McCree gathered his things, careful to collect every scrap of his prosthetic-arm, especially if he had no idea what the pieces would be for. He was already missing him arm severely. He had no idea how Junkrat managed to live without an arm, and 'leg,' but then McCree saw with what ease Junkrat traversed the bog with his...mermaid-tail.

It still hadn't clicked. Junkrat was a genuine, god-damn mermaid…

And something else occurred to him, that he just couldn't overlook.

"Hey Junkrat, if you've been waiting on me three days, why in the world didn't you set up camp on dry land in the first place?"

"Ahhh ha ha ha," It was a nervous laugh, Junkrat even seemed a little pissed. "I wish it would've been that easy. Firstly, the kelpie never left. The creepy fuck has never stopped staring at me from that puddle." Junkrat pointed to a dark pool, and McCree's blood ran cold…

He could barely make the kelpie out, but he saw, those beady...pearly eyes. The eyes glowed ominously. This kelpie-creature wasn't even trying to hide.

"Second," Junkrat cleared his throat. "After scrapping with the kelpie to get back your dead-weight body, you weren't fit to drag anywhere. It took everything I had just to keep you breathing."

McCree couldn't meet Junkrat's eyes. His cheeks reddened. It had been a silly question.

"Right, of course! Thanks a ton Junkrat; I really do appreciate it!"

"You BETTER!"

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews and Feedback is very much appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**_Glue Fish: Chapter 3  
_**

* * *

It was late-evening and Watchpoint Gibraltar was quiet as agents wandered slowly to their rooms, the majority sore and beaten from the outcome of their missions.

Hanzo Shimada had been spared the duty of a mission for the wekk. Hanzo was loath to admit it, but remaining peaceful and solitary within his room for as many hours deemed possible was always a priceless experience...

"Hanzo!"

*BAM BAM BAM*

Where those supposed to be '_door'_ knocks?

Hanzo's brown eyes cracked open, sparking blue briefly as the experience was broken...

"Y'ello, you in there?"

It seemed Hanzo had a visitor, and while the experience wasn't unwelcomed, it wasn't utterly wanted in the slightest.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out as he swallowed his frustration.

"I was hoping to have some nice chitter-chat this evening, friend~!"

It was Reinhardt. No other voice could possibly be so cheerful, yet as deep as a well.

Hanzo said not a word at he stood up and stiffly slid open the metal-door.

Reinhardt's wrinkled face beamed at Hanzo. So cheerful the man was, his smile almost seemed painful and his grey mustache puffed up with every growing chuckle.

He held out his arms as if subconsciously inviting a hug.

"Hanzo, Hanzo, my friend! It's been too long since our last tea-time~!"

Hanzo blinked incredulously. It really hadn't. Reinhardt never failed to have tea with Hanzo at least once a week, and they would've met more often if Reinhardt had his way.

Of course, Hanzo was a gracious host regardless.

With a bow, he grunted, stepping-aside to let Reinhardt in.

The big man easily took up a third of the room, even as he settled down on a pillow on the tatami mat, cross-legged.

Both remained quiet as Reinhardt watched curiously, how Hanzo prepared the tea. It was generally considered rude to speak during the preparation; and both had "tea-time," so many times before that the ceremony left no need for comment.

However, three bowls, Hanzo set out; one too many, so Reinhardt found the need to speak.

"I'm afraid...Junkrat isn't joining us today."

"Oh?" That gave Hanzo pause. Like Reinhardt, Junkrat _'never'_ missed an opportunity to join "tea-time."

"Might I ask why?"

Reinhardt shrugged, "I checked the logs, says Rat is on a mission."

Hanzo raised a brow. Now that was _'odd.'_ Junkrat was always careful to schedule his missions '_away'_ from their chosen day.

"Was it an emergency?" Unlikely, since Junkrat's skill and explosive artillery wasn't just sent out on a mission without extensive planning beforehand. It simply wasn't the nature of it. Several candidates were better suited for "emergencies," then Junkrat could ever hope to be. It wasn't in Rat's nature as well…

"No," Reinhardt shook his head, "Log didn't mark it as one...and, here's the kicker!" He leaned forward, his brows bobbed conspiratorially. "Junkrat was sent on a SNEAK mission!"

Hanzo had been in the middle of portioning out matcha powder into the bowls; barely, he avoided spilling powder as he scoffed in surprise.

"And, and-the sneak mission is in a salt marsh, East Coast, in the Americas!" Reinhardt bellowed, throwing his hands up in the air for emphasize

Hanzo poured the kettle of hot water slowly...still not believing what he was hearing…

"Let me get this straight...Junkrat was sent on a mission requiring...stealth, when Junkrat is the least-stealthy person in all of Overwatch."

Reinhardt nodded slowly, cheeks red as if he was choking on laughter.

"That's... ridiculous."

"BAH-hahaha!" Reinhardt clasped a hand on Hanzo to steady himself. He rocked back and forth like an inebriated giant.

"Ridiculous indeed, my friend! In a swamp-marsh no less!"

Hanzo nodded his agreement. With a flourish from a bamboo whisk, Hanzo made a welcoming froth in the tea.

Several beats of silence passed between them, before the bowls cooled enough to be picked up.

"Did Roadhog join Junkrat?" Hanzo hummed as he savoured his tea.

Reinhardt sniffed, "No, in fact the hog-man is on base, saw him reading a book. Why….? Oh, right! McCree is the one that went with Rat."

Hanzo frowned, in thought. He was old enough to know when things were...off.

"That's not right, not at all…" He paused as he gave careful consideration of his suspicions…

"I suspect Junkrat might be in trouble."

Junkrat rarely, if ever, went on missions without Roadhog. The duo worked best together.

Reinhardt balked. "No? Rat is fine, I'm sure! He can't be killed easily, that's for sure. He's older than us both."

Hanzo put down his tea, shaking his head.

"No, it's not that. I just don't trust McCree."

"What?! No, no Hanzo. Don't '_say'_ that. McCree is a great man, been with Overwatch since Blackwatch. I trust the man plenty."

Hanzo sighed. He wasn't about to criticize Reinhardt's judge of character, but it was clear he had a bias.

"But wasn't McCree once apart of the infamous Deadlock Gang?"

"He...well, he was. He was, '_once'_ a criminal."

"That's enough to cast suspicion upon him."

Reinhardt reluctantly nodded.

"I...suppose. But, you've been a criminal yourself. Junkrat moreso…? The uh, _'hypocrisy'_ is a bit confusing."

"True, but McCree is a trickster."

"Aha, but Junkrat is too! What is your point, my friend?"

Rolling his eyes, Hanzo leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Reinhardt was almost afraid he would get stuck staring like that, so he asked a question.

"Are you proposing we investigate?"

Hanzo nodded, looking dour. "Yes, I think that is best. I have a bad feeling."

"That is good! AND, especially since Junkrat was expected back from his mission SEVERAL days ago!"

Hanzo's eyes were still fixed on the ceiling at Reinhardt's sudden admission. Slowly his eyes cracked to a glare. He almost choked on the rest of his tea.

"YOU buffoon! DAMN it! Why didn't you say '_that_' right away?"

Reinhardt chuckled, and shrugged, "To stretch out the conversation, friend. I believe that's the most words I've gotten out of you yet!"

"Arck, just drink your tea and go!"

"Ahh nah, not so fast Hanzo. We've haven't had snacks yet~!"

* * *

McCree was getting old, much too old to be haunted by monsters...but there he was, stuck on a swampy hillside…

...just a quick look over his shoulder and he swore he caught a glimpse of pearly white eyes...

Junkrat and him had found dry land, just in time to settle down for the night, but McCree was keen on not sleeping...

His spirits, his nerves, his _'whatever'_ were all nagging him to death.

'_Monsters aren't real,' a small voice whispered_, but then his mind would flash back to those "pearly-white eyes," and McCree would get his nerves all worked up again, turning and turning the memory over and over, like churning sweet butter…

It was madness, which is precisely why McCree couldn't quite shake it, his fear and those memories...because either he was going mad...

OR, he just discovered that the world had madness and '_supernatural hoopla'_ the entire time.

Neither option was appealing. McCree was mortified...shocked...near soiling himself...

His sensibilities had been buck off and crushed underneath an angry bull called reality. In his youth, McCree had only participated once in a full-blown rodeo.

While riding the bull, not only had he been bucked off, his right arm had crumpled like paper underneath those hooves…

Damn...he could get bucked off by horses and get right back on, like any proper cowboy; but, damn-shit-fuck it was a great shame of his that he never did get back on that bull...now he was too old to try again…

"Damn," whispered McCree. Just that small noise sounded like a smack in the quiet marsh.

McCree stared up at a dark sky, long left starless from light pollution.

Junkrat was sleeping besides him, and a lingering stare at that fish-tail helped McCree make up his mind.

Whatever reality was; whatever that one bull had done, he wouldn't cower, or run away…

"Aurgh, fuck!"

Or bleed.

McCree had touched his belly and chest to find he was still tender from the attack. He'd make that kelpie-fuck bleed, whenever he got the chance...he wouldn't be able to find peace otherwise, to fall the fuck-

"You awake, Mackie?"

-to fall asleep…

"I heard you scream."

"Yeah, I'm up…sorry about that." McCree voice was shaky and dry. He hadn't meant to wake up Junkrat. Both of them needed sleep, desperately...the last thing he wanted to think about was what they would have to do in the morning.

"Nah, yeah. No biggie, I wasn't sleeping none," chuckled Junkrat.

A chill ran up McCree's spine. He could have swore that Junkrat had been sleeping...he'd been still as death.

He swiveled his head to look over Rat. That small action made him nauseous, and a bit tense.

Rat was downright terrifying in the dark. His orange eyes smoked like cigar-tips, which glowed just enough to show off his needle-thick teeth.

Rat was still a fish-man, alright. A look at his chest showed a disturbing lack of breathing. Either he was breathing shallow, or the scales that had stacked up from his skin were very, _very_ thick.

"Yah like what you see don't yah?" Junkrat quipped. He chuckled, almost belting out a cackle as McCree crawled backwards, terrified.

"Fuck! Rat, your voice got a whole lot deeper!" McCree looked pale as death.

Junkrat continued to laugh, finding no reason to stop.

"Oh, did it now?" he said, chipper as a bell.

McCree said nothing, barely biting back the remark; 'And you got a whole lot uglier too!'

No doubt Junkrat would've ripped his face off with those freak-teeth for that comment…

McCree would have been happy to not say another word, but as Junkrat tittered out, the rat just began staring, with those buggy, burning eyes.

Fuck, Junkrat was scary.

"So...you said, you're a mermaid? D-don't you mean a _merman?" _McCree chuckled, hoping to injected humor into the conversation; otherwise, the tingle in his spine said Junkrat just might '_kill'_ him.

Junkrat didn't look too happy about still being awake…and the question didn't amuse him none.

The rat had gone quiet, _real quiet._ McCree could only hear his heart, which opted to crawl up into his throat.

Finally, Junkrat spoke.

"No," he said carefully, taking a measured tone. "Merman don't exist, only mermaids."

The statement was unbearably plain when coming from a chatter-happy character like Rat.

McCree couldn't even begin to figure the implications of the answer.

All he was fixed on, was not soiling himself, and to not cut off Junkrat's glare. Those teeth were getting closer and closer…

"Go to sleep, Mackie."

And McCree closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Glue Fish: Chapter 4  
_**

* * *

Nothing was working. Everything was dry as sand flux, but not a single light, nor beep came from the broken electronics.

"Ahhh, we're fucked, mate!" Cried Junkrat, "Completely fucked! The comms are toasted, got no wires, and Mackie, your arm-"

"It's fine...really!" snapped McCree. Harsh, dark bags sat under his eyes and he pinched his nose to avoid screaming.

Junkrat hummed and hawed. McCree's arm sat on a rock, the electronic bits gutted. Rat had been tinkering with it for the past hour or so, but little progress had been made, even if he was far from admitting it.

"What year is this model from again?"

McCree sighed. It was the third time Junkrat had asked. "It's from the 2040's, says right there inside."

Junkrat nodded, "Right...right…" he squinted at the engraved text printed on a flap inside the arm. Rat could read, sure; but not well, too many future-tech words he hadn't picked up yet. And, it hadn't helped that his flash-fired eyes didn't give him the best vision. He needed glasses, but not like Rat would ever admit _'that'_ either.

"So the arm is about _'thirty years'_ old then..._great._" Sarcasm dripped from Junkrat, more potent than the angry, nervous sweat he was caked in.

"The hell is that supposed to mean!?"

"It means your arm is a piece of shit, Mackie!"

For emphasize, Junkrat raised his own mechanical arm, giving the wrist a satisfying spin. Unlike McCree's, his arm was reasonably fixable.

McCree gritted his teeth. "Say that again, Rat! I dare yah!" Both McCree and Rat were pissy from lack of sleep, and that just meant McCree's tolerance for bullshit was non-existent.

"Fuck Rat, you don't even know what you're doing do you? You're just poking shit and hoping it works like some monkey!"

"Hey fuck you too!" Junkrat tossed a screwdriver back, the tip dented and useless. "I DO know what I'm doing! It's just that this arm is chock-full of designer bullshit. I mean, look at this-" Junkrat lifted up the arm in front of McCree, the mechanical hand waved lazily back and forth.

Jabbing a finger inside, he pointed to a band of wires colored in a gaudy gradient of rainbows.

"The hell is this Mackie!? _'Rainbow'_ wires! The hell does _'rainbow'_ even mean? Wires are supposed to be red and green, not everything at once!"

McCree was a bit taken aback, "Oh, weird. Huh, usually I just take it in for repairs. I...don't do the maintenance myself…"

Head hung low, Junkrat sighed. "Yeah...that was obvious enough."

Rat never failed at tinkering. Usually the guts of a machine were intuitive enough that he got repairs and tweaks done by sight alone…but Mackie's arm...it was some fancy bullshit.

McCree said not a word. He chewed his lips nervously as he saw Rat's fish-tail begin to swish side to side like an angry cat.

"Mackie-"

Junkrat sighed in resignation, hanging his head impossibly lower. His front end became coated in muck, and he closed his eyes for what was to come...

"-the kelpie is right behind you."

* * *

"No."

"Hanzo, please. This is important."

"No."

Reinhardt groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"This is so silly! And, stupid!"

Hanzo huffed. His arms were crossed and his face looked stern; though, Reinhardt only saw a _'petulant child.'_

"Come on, how _'old'_ are you, friend?" Ribbed Reinhardt. He slowly pushed Hanzo forward, like one would a stubborn animal.

"No." Said Hanzo again, and Reinhardt found himself defeated.

Hanzo was rooted to the metal floor and though stubborn, Hanzo usually _'could'_ be moved on most subjects; however, _THIS_, was apparently an unfortunate exception.

"Go on, Hanzo. Go say _"Hello,"_ to your brother."

Hanzo mentally flinched. He closed his eyes as he reminded himself of his resolutions.

Once, a thousands years and counting...he slew his brother for the promise of power...

Power Hanzo did find: he became the unrivalled Lord of the North and South Wind. He became the beating current of the Heavens. For centuries his breath was a storm...his word, thunder...then...then...his memory wavered…

What _had_ happened? What had made him lose _'that'_ power?

His teeth clenched crudely. He recalled how his brother's power, that of the North Wind, was wretched from him...and the power with him...slipping through the air...caught on a breeze...his brother...left him as a _ghost_...

"That _'thing'_ is not my brother!" He spat.

Reinhardt grimaced, as if he tasted something bitter.

"Genji is not a _thing_." He replied calmly. "He is your brother. I don't get it, why are you afraid of him!?"

Hanzo gaped. Him, afraid? Of Genji? No, no, no…his pride would not stand for that accusation!

"I am not!" Hanzo meant to sound stern, but Reinhardt smiled, a twinkle in his eye. Hanzo just sounded indignant.

"AHHHHH-hahaha~!" Reinhardt slapped a knee. His grin impossibly wide. "You ARE afraid, Hanzo! Come on, come on! It's not like you haven't talked to him before-"

"NO."

Reinhardt looked to the ground, his eyes pleading. "But...but...Genji is the best pilot…" Reinhardt sighed. He'd explained the plan several times before. "Look, Lena and Jack-"

"I understand! I understand the plan. We '_will_' wait to ask either Lena, or Jack, for transportation. Genji is NOT an option."

"Genji is the ONLY option!" Shouted Reinhardt.

His heated reply surprised them both. Hanzo raised a brow. Reinhardt had neglected to tell him that detail.

"I doubt it."

"Okay, okay. I didn't suggest at first because I hoped you'd just talk to Genji...but," Reinhardt's voice lowered to a whisper, "I think we need to embrace the Heavens."

"W-what!" Hanzo flinched, disgusted. That's overkill Rein, and it would be a horrible abuse of power. Not anyone can 'embrace the Heavens' on a whim."

"But Genji can."

Hanzo sighed, which almost sounded like a whimper. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Hanzo, I know know know, the Heavens aren't a game, but if we don't travel that way, then how will we?"

Hanzo rolled his eyes. It was Reinhardt's turn to act the part of a child.

"Simple, when either Lena or 'Soldier' Jack returns, we will demand an investigation into Junkrat's whereabouts. We won't travel at all."

Reinhardt looked gobsmacked. "But...no adventure?" The enthusiasm seemed to drain out of the big man. It had been crushed and killed by Hanzo's ominous glare.

"But, but the investigation? You agreed on doing one!"

Hanzo calmly shook his head. Reinhardt didn't know what he was asking.

Traveling the Heavens was only for very very rare, _'dangerous'_ occasions, and Rein, regardless of intentions, wanted it for a childish mission.

"I agreed to an investigation; but, it is not our duty to do so. Junkrat is Overwatch's responsibility, not ours!"

Reinhardt looked sad, so sad...so disappointed.

"Can, you please just think about it?"

It was not often the big man's spirits were snuffed out. Hanzo was all the more surprised by how easily he'd done it, unintentionally.

Hanzo did not use his words lightly, so he spoke carefully…

"I will."


End file.
